Nightlock: The Tale of a Foxfaced Girl
by Nacho the Greato
Summary: Have you ever wondered about the mysterious Foxface that Katniss talks about? This is her story. Please read and review, I must be constanly improving. I'm working on the title. Message me if you have any suggestions. Right now it's kind of cheesy. The book cover is not mine, though I did edit it and make it a bit better. R&R, please.


Please read and review. I love constructive criticism. I'm always looking to make improvements. Seriously, if you read this tell me what you think. I don't care if you hate it, just tell me what I can do to improve it.

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><p><strong>Foxface's POV<strong>

I wake up and the house is empty. It takes me a minute to remember that my sister is dead. It has been almost a year, but the pain is still fresh. I can still see her thrashing and screaming as the Careers slowly tore her apart, limb by limb. I can still hear the strangled cry that she made when she finally died. I don't know how I made it this far without her… without anyone.

I have never known my mother or father. I lived with my grandmother up until a few years ago when she died of a spreading illness. My sister and I kept it a secret; we did not want to be put into foster homes. Now I'm alone. My sister died in the Hunger Games last year. I can still remember her name being called, just as two other unfortunate children's names will be called today.

The reaping is today. Today we figure out who lives and who dies. There's almost no hope that we will ever see our tributes again. We only have five victors who are alive. No one from District 5 has won the Hunger Games for ten years. The reaping will be at nine o'clock, which is an hour from now.

As I get ready, I try and prepare for what is to come. I brush my red hair out as I tell myself that everything's okay, and there's no one to worry about now. I put on my reaping dress as I hold in the tears for my sister. I look in the mirror and tell myself that I need to be strong… for her. Then, I walk out of the house with my head held high, just as I do every reaping day, except this time I have something less than I usually do.

When I get to the square, I find that it is already crowded with people. I walk into the section for sixteen-year-olds. If I had someone that I was remotely close to or fond of, I would try to find them, but I tend to keep to myself. Last year at about this time, my sister gave me a reassuring glance, trying to comfort me, saying that we wouldn't get picked. I try to hold on to the comfort that her glance gave me as I get ready for my first reaping completely by myself, but it only turns into a sick feeling.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," begins a guttural voice from the stage. "It is time, once again, to pick the two lucky young adults that are to be representing District 5 for the 74th annual Hunger Games."

Our announcer, James Corley, is from a far-off city called the Capitol. He speaks in a strange accent that my grandmother described as British, but everyone calls it the Capitol accent. It's easy to make fun of; almost everything sounds strange and funny in it. My sister and I used to laugh at it all of the time.

James starts to go into the history of the Hunger Games and Panem, our country. Everyone knows this lecture from school, but when James says it, it sounds eerie and punishing. I try to tune it out; it has always been sort of creepy to me.

"Now for our tributes," he says after he is done lecturing us. You can hear murmurs from the adult crowd. Some are probably placing bets, while others are looking to their friends for reassurance for their children's fates.

"It is the unique tradition for the District 5 males to be selected first," he says as he reaches his hand into a large glass ball. His hand locks in on a slip of paper and he slowly brings it out of the ball. "Our male tribute for the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games is Aaron Jameson."

You can hear a shrill cry coming from the back of the crowd, probably from the mother. What's awful is that you can hear sighs of relief. You should feel happy and lucky that your child is not going to partake in this horrific event, but is it right to do it at this young boy's expense. Aaron looks about 12, which is the youngest eligible age for the Hunger Games.

"Now we shall pick the female tribute," James announces. He reaches his hand into another glass ball, this one slightly bigger that the men's. This time, he swirls around all of the slips of paper before he finds the one he wants. "The female tribute that will represent District 5 in the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games is Jaquel Rogers."

There are many sighs of relief, but not because they recognize the name, because they don't. There are no cries of sorrow. There are no sobs from the crowd. There are no acknowledgements towards the name whatsoever, except for the redheaded girl climbing the stairs of the stage. This girl is me.

I walk up the steps slowly, being very careful not to trip. People who fall when they're walking up to the stage get almost no sponsors. I want to cry. I want to curl up into a ball and cry as my sister strokes my hair, telling me it will be alright. These hopes are, as I very well know, in vain. My sister is dead and crying won't get me anything but a brutal death.

When I'm on the stage I can see almost everything in the District. Even though District 5 keeps the power going in the entire nation, it is a fairly small District. Even District 12 is bigger than us. Of course, we don't need much space to keep the power going. Now, a few big generators will do the trick. My grandmother used to tell me stories of how, many years ago, we had thousands of generators and District 5 was huge.

Now, though, District 5 is tiny. From the stage I can make out where the District ends and the wilderness begins. From the stage I can make out every building in the District. From the stage I can make out every person in the audience that is staring at me, waiting for me to die.

I guess it's better for me to die than their kids. They have people who care about them; I'm alone. At least only one family will be drawing their shutters back and staying in tonight. I guess it's good that I was selected. I'm a sacrifice.

What brings me out of my thoughts is the voice of James Corley announcing, "These are the tributes of District 5!"

Aaron and I shake hands and are immediately escorted to the Justice Building. In the Justice Building we are split up into different rooms where family and friends can come and visit us for 30 minutes before we leave for the Capitol.

I already hear noise from Aaron's room. It was sobbing. He has family that loves him, I think. Why did it have to be him? I have to protect him. I need to try to get him back to his family. My thoughts are interrupted by the door of my room opening. A boy walks in. He has sandy blond hair and sea green eyes.  
>"Ryan?" I asked.<p>

Ryan is one of the most popular boys in school. He's 17 and one grade level higher than me. I didn't even think he knew my name. Girls are always fawning over him; even I have to admit that I've always had a little crush on him.

"Jaquel," he said, shutting the door.

"Why are you here? I'm not trying to be rude, I just—I didn't think you knew me," I stammered.

"Oh, Jaquel, but I do. I've known you for a while. One of my friends pointed you out. Ever since then I've been watching you," he said, walking towards me.

I was surprised by this. I tried to keep a low profile; I don't know how someone so beautiful and popular could know me.

"Watching me? That's creepy," I said in disbelief, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yes. Oh, yes. Have you ever wondered why I declined all of those girls?" He asked me.

He sat down on the same plush chair I was sitting in. Our legs were touching. I could feel the heat radiating off of him.

I looked into his deep green eyes and asked, "Why?"

"You," he whispered so quietly that I wasn't even sure he said it.

He leaned in towards me, closing his eyes. His lips brushed up against mine and he kissed me. It was gentle and sweet. He wrapped his arms around me and I wrapped mine around him.

"I'm sorry. I had to do that before you left. Just once," he said.

"Then let's make it twice," I said, leaning into him.

This time it was different. It was a hungry kiss. It was like he couldn't get enough. It was okay though, because I couldn't either. I don't know how long it was before I pulled away. It felt like a lifetime.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" I asked him.

"I don't know. I guess I wasn't brave enough," he replied.

My arms were still wrapped around him and his were still wrapped around me. I put my head on his shoulder and the most unexpected thing happened. I cried. For the first time I realized that I didn't want to go. I didn't want to die.

"It's okay," he said, trying to relax me.

"Why do people say that?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"What do you mean?" He replied.

"Why do people tell you that it's okay when they know it isn't?" I asked.

For a long moment he looked into my teary eyes.

"I don't know," he answered, leaning in for another kiss.

I gave it to him. I wanted to be happy before I was ripped away from my home. I wanted to remember this happy moment. It was the first I've had in at least a year. So I let myself be happy. I knew that I wouldn't last. I knew that he, along with everything else in my life, would be ripped away.

"I should have volunteered," he said.

"No. I'm glad you didn't. Then we would both die," I said.

"You're not going to die," he said fiercely.

"Don't fool yourself," I told him.

"You won't die! Promise me you won't die!" He screamed, tears rolling down his cheeks.

"I don't make promises I can't keep," I said quietly.

"Try. At least try to live. Can you promise me that?" He asked.

"I promise," I said.

He kissed me again. It was still hungry, but at the same time gently. I kissed him back. I wanted to live in this moment. I just wanted to freeze this moment forever. I'll remember this, I thought. As I'm dying I will remember this.

The door of the room busted open and at least five Peacekeepers came in. They didn't even act like this was an awkward situation, them just walking in on us. They acted as if this happened every day.

"Time to go," one said.

I grabbed on to Ryan, not wanting to leave. For the first time in a year, I had something that I loved. Now it's being ripped away from me, just like everything else in my life.

"I don't want to go!" I shouted at him, sobbing.

They walked towards me, looking more and more menacing with every step. They ripped me from his grasp and tossed me over their shoulder like I was a mere sack of flour.

"Ryan!" I screamed, tears flowing out of my eyes.

"Jaquel!" He yelled back.

I saw that he was crying. We had both come to the realization that I would never come back. This was the last time that I was going to see Ryan Grant.

"Jaquel... I love you," he said, no longer yelling.

Before I could respond, the Peacekeepers had already hauled me out of the room and the door slammed shut.

"No!" I screamed to the Peacekeepers.

"I have to see him! Just let me say goodbye!" I yelled, tears streaming down my face.

It was as if they didn't even hear me. They kept on walking with me slung over their shoulder. I tried kicking and screaming, but it was no use. They were the Capitol's muttations. They felt nothing. They heard nothing. They cared about nothing. I couldn't do anything to make them let me go. I couldn't guilt them into it. I couldn't use violence. I was helpless. This was the first time in my life that I have felt utterly helpless.

When they put me down in the train tears were still fresh in my eyes. I was still miserable over Ryan, but nothing could distract me from the beauty of the train. There were walls made of fabric. There were floors in bright colors. There were rugs woven into intricate designs. There were tables in designs I had never imagined. There were couches that were so plush they might explode. Each individual piece on the train was beautiful, but all together it looked like a tacky mess.

The other tribute, Aaron, walked into the train. I finally got a close look at him. He had smooth, olive skin and short, straight, jet-black hair. He had a very small build. He was short and extremely skinny. His shoulders were narrow for a man. He walked with an unmatched grace. His face had no tears stained on it. Was that a trace of a smile on his lips? How could one be happy when their death was so blatant?

"This is… amazing," Aaron said, finally breaking the silence.

Amazing? That would not have been the word I used to describe it. Mine would have been "tacky" or "grandiose." Never would I have used the word amazing.

"Thank you, I designed it myself," came a rough, guttural voice from the other side of the room.

It was James Corley, our escort. He was wearing a midnight black suit with a burgundy tie to match his hair. His hair was spiked at strange angles, looking dangerously sharp. He had a rather small build for a man, but very tall. He towered far above Aaron and me.

"I used to be a stylist, you know?" He continued.

"Really? For what district?" Aaron asked.

"District 11," James sighed.

District 11, along with all of the other districts, save 1,2, and 4, almost never wins the Hunger Games. It's not a good district to be stuck with. Their prime industry is agriculture, and while they know a lot about natural food sources, they don't know much about fighting.

"District 11's a good district to have! They have huge potential in their costumes!" Aaron exclaimed.

After a moment of silence, James said, "Well, we better go show you guys your rooms!"

To get to our rooms we had to trek through at least 5 train cars. Luckily, the train had not started moving. James made it excruciatingly clear that we were not to leave the car with our rooms in it. Apparently something had happened in the past and a tribute tried to jump out of the train to avoid being in the Games.

I opened the door to my room and it was amazing. It was nothing like the rest of the train. It was a very simple and elegant design. The bed was in the middle of the room with steps leading down to it. Nothing looked too imposing in the room. It wasn't very Capitol-like. I half-fell half-jumped into the bed. Remembering my day was almost like reliving it. I cried for what could have been hours then I drifted into dreams about Ryan.


End file.
